"P. N. Elrod - Jonathan Barrett 01 - Red Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

.
"Dearest Marie, is this your good son, Jonathan Fonteyn?" she demanded in a
loud, flat, and childishly thin voice.
I winced.
Mother was capable of swift thought and judgment and her conclusion was th
at now was not the time for introductions; I was not properly dressed to g
reet guests. "A moment, Deborah, a moment to catch my breath and then I sh
all ask him to corae and meet you."
Deborah, correctly deducing that she'd been importune, turned a beaming f
ace to Mother and ignored me entirely. The man copied her.
Mother issued a sharp order to the maid for tea and biscuits and then invite
d her guests into the parlor with a graceful gesture. As they proceeded ahea
d, she swung a livid face in my direction and pointed upstairs meaningfully.
"Good God," I muttered sourly, masking it with a cordial smile and a nod of
understanding. Jericho followed as I fled to my room.
"You know who they are?" he asked, putting down my clothes and smoothl
y moving toward the wardrobe.
"Friends of hers from Philadelphia. Deborah Hardinbrook and her brother, T
heophilous Beldon. I've heard her talk about them. At length. She's the wi
dow of some captain who drowned at sea and he's supposed to be a doctor, G
od help us. Whatever you do, don't mention my headache to anyone lest it g
et back to him and he offers to cure it."
Jericho removed a claret-colored coat from the wardrobe and shook it out.
"Why this one?" I asked, as he helped me into it. "It's not my best."
"Exactly. To wear anything really nice might tell these two you wish to impre
ss them. This coat will tell them that you could care less about their favor,
but at the same time inform them that you are the head of this house in your
father's absence and it is their job to impress you."
"It will?"
"It does. Trust me on this, Mr. Jonathan."
I would, for he was always right on such details. "Elizabeth. She'll have to
be warned."
"And so she shall be," he promised, pulling out a pair of shoes and inspectin
g the buckles for tarnish. There was none, of course.
"I have these," I protested, pointing at the ones on my feet.
"New buckles on old shoes," he chided. "It doesn't look right, not for a first
meeting."
"We can switch them to another pair."
He firmly held the shoes out for me. "Wear these. They will demand respect
. Save the others for Sunday."
I grunted and did as I was told.
He was finished in a very few minutes. "There. Sometimes you cannot avoid go
ing into the lion's den, but when you must, it is better to be well dressed.
"
"What makes you think this is a lion's den?"
"What makes you think it is not?"
"Excellent point. Go see to Elizabeth, will you?"
"Certainly."
In deference to my sober garb and still-buzzing brain, I did not rush downst
airs, though it was tempting. Head high and with a serious face, I paced slo